Hells Hostage
by BasiliskPrince
Summary: Prussia's fate has been decided, as a captive between Russia and Poland. Very Dark! Russia, Features descriptive Rape, beatings, and Sadomasachism,mature language. Not for young audiences. Also features Sadistic!Poland. Will end happier.
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning of The End

Hell's Hostage

The darkness spread against every corner of the tiny cell, and from within the darkness sat a broken man. His eyes were closed, his blood splattered against the sterile white wall. The bars against the doorway and window did nothing to stop the chill as it consumed at his bones. His midnight blue suit, which was in tatters, did nothing to stop the wind from whipping against his bones, and the shivers were racking through his frame. His lips were turning a light blue, and the skin felt like a thousand tiny needles running along his arm. Ruby hues were hidden behind chopped up white bangs watching the shadows cascade past his bars. Movement, he could still hear the sound of the heavy leather smacking against cold concrete. He made no motion to his dingy cot, bolted to the wall, the springs poking out to stab at him in his deepest sleep. How could someone at the top, fall so hard? He spat at the ground at the sound of approaching boots, blood mingling with saliva in a splatter against the dirty ground. He could still see the outline of dirt from which he spent a week just laying on the ground, unclean, his wounds infected.

"_Privyet_, Beilschmidt."

The ruby glance met a lilac stare. The fallen man raised his chin in defiance at the towering figure in front of him. The familiar white scarf dangled down towards the ground against the tan cloth as the sandy blonde man approached. Each step threatened death even from the distance of an iron barred door. Still, the albino stood staggering and sputtering blood…his chin still highly raised, he was not going to let anyone think they had knocked him from his own self-conceited pedestal of "awesome".

"Hallo, Braginsky," Prussia spat at the name, blood mingled with mucus, but there seemed to be no reaction at all to the act. Russia only seemed to be amused, the lilac eyes glittering with malevolence.

"Given in yet, _zakljuchennij_?" The Russian stood close to the doorway, the iron bars casting shadows against his eyes…a deep red glow that scared smaller nations to tears. Prussia stood his ground, his ankle exposed by his frayed pant leg, and bits of his skin lost due to the grips of iron manacles. Grinding his teeth against the pain, his deep purple gaze was viciously aimed at Ivan's eyes.

"Never, Braginsky, I'm far too awesome to give up to the likes of you." A smug smirk washed over chapped lips, the blood dried and cracked against the surface. "I'm Prussia, not some whipping boy like Toris."

"Not a whipping boy, _net_? I will see about that,_ da_? As I did last time, of do you forget so soon, Beilschmidt?" The lilac stare was pinching at Prussia's nerves, but he stood defiant and strong. His red stare locking with purple, even as the gloved hand touched against the cold steel and opened the door…he knew this was to become far worse as time went on. This had been his fate since the day the conference had renounced him as one of them.

-FLASHBACK-

His heart raced as he stood at the conference room's oak doors. The same oak doors he passed through a thousand times, carelessly pushing it and stepping in with a smug demeanor. Now he could feel his Adams apple bob up and down as he swallowed the lump in his throat, Germany had been defeated in the past few days, and the allies had been concerned about Prussia's state. A strong and powerful country, Gilbert had always been one of the forerunning strengths in his brother's arsenal. A strong older brother, headstrong, and rushing into battle with sword or gun raised, blood splattering in the wake. Now, he stood planted in one spot, afraid to touch an oak door, but it wasn't long that he was being summoned in by America's voice. "Hey dude! Hurry up, I want to get a cheeseburger and milkshake and this meeting is holding me up from getting it!"

He stepped softly, touching his palm to the door, and then turned the knob with his right hand. Coming into the room fully, he kept his composure and graced the conference room with his confident smile. A smirk and even a look of self importance stealing away the tension in his eyes, after all he was awesome!

"How terribly tactful of you, Alfred, we're deciding his fate and all you care about is your bloody cheeseburger."

"Can you two quit arguing and get the show on the road, no?"

"SHUT UP, YOU SNAIL SLURPING WANKER!"

It was usually during this time that Germany would stand at attention and cause everyone to fall into silence by his loud and commanding vocals but he was in no condition to command anything after the last time Prussia saw him. He was held back from the conference room, still held as a gentleman instead of a prisoner, unlike Prussia. He had been the first to be judged, and he knew he would suffer the higher price, for he had a stronger command than his brother. He moved to stand in front of the nations that would be the ones to sentence him to his horrid fate, his own personal jury.

"Can we get on with it, _da? _I do have plans today, guys…"Russia was glowing with some malevolent look, a glow of lilac hatred surrounding his shadowing. The sandy haired blonde was sitting back in his chair, a self important smirk rising up on his lips, under his bulbous nose.

"Prussia. You are here today as a result of your involvement in the war lead by Germany," England seemed to have gained his composure after a moment or two, and mostly because of the intensive stare of Ivan Braginsky, and yet the serious stare of the British nation was very ill placed at the moment, and almost ominous. "World War II's atrocities were at the hands of Germany, Italy, Japan, and various other countries and foremost, you. As a result of the damage left behind due to your actions in the war, we, The Allies, have decided to remove your status in the conference room. You no longer have a place among us, and in addition to that, we have decided that stripes you of any rights to your property and self. You are now the property of Russia and Poland, and Germany may retain some rights to you. However, you are no longer your own person."

Slavery; he had been sentenced to slavery…something against many of the nations beliefs, but Russia's evil smile, and Poland's greedy glance at Russia said all it needed to. Their cooperation with the war was to gather pieces of his property and his very body. He was the current object in their war against each other.

It was at that moment that Russia stood, along with Poland. Each country grabbing one of Prussia's arms with a possessive glare and tugging for more reach than the other. During the struggle, Feliks pulled at pieces of his clothing, his Germanic cross, ripping it off of his person and it landed on the conference room floor. During this point in time, Russia was enraged, and his anger had the Baltic nations shivering in their steps as they followed the great nation with fear, huddled together, as each word he uttered was " Ubitj, Ubitj, Ubitj. "

Later that night, Poland had first rights to him in a dingy prison cell. Poland had torn his clothing off his body, and driven himself into him, taking his virginity and taking what vital pieces of his person he could. The sweat had poured, and he had been left in a sickly state of blood, sweat and shivering pain…but he refused to beg and he had fought hard against the Pol. Feliks had been mildly gentle, wanting to hear how amazing he was…but Prussia would have nothing of that.

"Tell me how large and wonderful my vital regions are, Gilbert," Feliks purred into his ear, and Gilbert had responded by spitting in his face.

"I'm bigger than you, _arschloch_,and I'm better all around too," Gilbert took that moment to elbow Poland in the chest.

It was only when Russia had made his presence known from the shadows that the fight had been lost, but he didn't go down without bruising the Pol. Still, it was under this agreement; that the Pol had left the room, taking the pocket change that Prussia had, when he had had his fill, and Russia had been the one to covet his prize, ripping into his back with a whip—blood pouring out of fresh lines that the whip cracked and making him scream at the sure size of the Russian's vital regions. The pure pain that came of that thrust, had Gilbert arching his back and screaming as loud as he could, his throat giving out on him midway through and causing him to go hoarse, in the silent prison ward, where only the chill of the night would offer him an embrace.

After the Russian had left him practically begging, a shivering mess on the ground, he had been smiling with the darkest of intents. The man promised to return, leaving only a breath mint on the ground and walking away with the sounds of heavy boots before calling out for Lithuania to come to him and change his clothing due to the filth of a Germanic touch.

-Flashback over-

Now he knew that Russia was coming to finish up degrading him, as he promised, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He was a prisoner to the cold and cruel Ivan Braginsky, but he was not a coward. In tatters, his midnight blue suit was doing nothing to make him feel proud and strong in front of the fully clothed nation. He looked the lesser of a man, more the slave than anything else, and the wounds from the last encounter glaring angrily on his back.

"I remember, Braginsky, and so will Germany when he gets a hold of you," he spat out, spitting into the Russian's face, who wiped the spittle away with his gloved fingertips.

( End of Chapter Notes):

**Russian: **

Privyet: Hello.

zakljuchennij_: _Prisoner.

Da: Yes.

Net: No.

Ubitj: Kill

**German:**

Arschloch:Asshole

( Thanks one of my readers for correcting me! Helps with the realism of the story!)


	2. Chapter 2: The Fall

**Chapter Two: **The Fall

It was never wise to test a Russian's patience, but Gilbert was never one to take much to caution. He had always gone into the fray unprepared, rushing out like a bat out of hell to grab what he wanted and peel away the parts he didn't, not caring who he upset in the process.

He was a tough man, though he felt less than a man now that he was under Ivan's _pleti_, a whip with three thongs which ended in lead balls. This was the crime for spitting on the Russian; he was thrown down, stepped on and whipped repetitively. He could feel his own bones grinding against each other as Ivan's leather boot, fresh with mud and grime, was pressed against his back. The trouble was that Ivan was not a man to finish early in his violent affairs.

Ivan savored the moment each lashing had been placed on Gilbert, only becoming happy enough to laugh outright and clap his hands together when he heard a scream hit the night air.

"It is such a fun game, ja?"

It was only when Gilbert was a bloody mess, his body composed of boot print-bruises, blood, and open wounds that Ivan had sent in Toris with vodka to douse on the wound. It was with strict instruction that the smaller nation not be gentle, most likely said in Russian tongue, that Ivan had stepped from the room, his boots clicking against the floor and in the distance a cry of despair at his arrival onto the scene, most likely Raivis being his decided victim.

"Germany will come for me!"

"That's what I said about Poland, be still and quiet," Toris spoke so quietly as though afraid that Russia was just around the corner waiting for him to be gentle and that way give reason for punishing the smaller nation.

"Ludwig will come, my brother will come," Gilbert could not even stand, his body broken down to the point where all he could do was fall to the floor. His confident wall was starting to break internally, but he was holding tight to each of the bricks.

"Yes, yes and Feliks will save me from Russia. It is a silly dream of mine, because Feliks can't even listen to proper warnings about Ivan attacking. And as for Ludwig, he's under his own strain. Try not to believe in fairytales for your own sake."

"_Suum cuique_, Lithuania."

Every so often, Toris would peek up at the slightest sound of a foot hitting the ground, shivers raking his body as he watched for the shadow of the powerful man donning his notorious scarf. No such shadow had been seen but his heart must have continued thundering because it looked to Gilbert as though any moment Toris would have a heart attack. The alcohol against the blood red stain was painful to Gilbert, causing him to scream. The skin ripped at the muscles and his back was a bleeding mess of flesh, the wounds deep and each touch of cloth and alcohol brought about a scream that made Toris twitchy and constantly looking behind him for the faded pink scarf that fluttered in the wind…stained with blood.

Cracking a smile, despite the split lip that he had caused himself, Gilbert showed off his cocky side unafraid of the Russian's return. The only thing that caused him to convulse and shudder was the touch of vodka on his wounds, something the Russian would not be happy with. _Good, the bastard could die of thirst! _

"Let him come, I'm awesome. I can handle anything he can dish out and by the time he finishes, my brother will wipe the floor with him."

It was sad to Gilbert to have to rely on his younger brother's return to set him free from his prison. Years of Prussia being the strongest and eldest nation, now he was falling short on his power. Relying on a younger sibling was a stab at the ego, but there was simply no other choice. Ludwig would come. There was no doubting that his brother would bring him home. The blonde muscular German had always been the silent refuge for many of his allies, and in no point in his history prior had Gilbert found a need to seek refuge in his brother's hold but now was different as red blood trailed down his back, sliding down his belt line and soon pouring down his legs as he tried to stand only to fall to the cold pavement a second time. His body convulsed at every movement, his fingers coating themselves in his own blood and yet he remembered the times before where he had been the victorious conqueror and those he fought against were the ones to taste their own blood. Now he could only fade out of consciousness on the cold uncleanly marble floor.

_**[] Flashback []**_

"_Gilbert, can't I have a piggyback please?"_

_Little Germany was well kept and cleanly, not a normalcy for most children. He had on his best cloth and kept hold on his big brother's hand at all times as Grandfather Germania often instructed. Gilbert was a teenager at this time, his clothing regal and strong and his features commanding a handsome ruggedness in his cocky demeanor as he strode with his little brother, strutting like a peacock. _

"_Nein, you can walk just fine! I'm too awesome to give piggyback rides and you are too old for that. I'll be happy when the days of you drinking comes, then you'll be old enough to watch yourself little bruder!" _

_Little Germany seemed to not seem fazed by his brother's attitude in the slightest. The most stone faced child ever to be seen walking the earth, Ludwig had let go of his brother's hand deciding he could be independent and just as he moved forward, he tripped over his own feet, his knee scrapping against the pavement and his eyes glazed over. He looked at his brother's back, not willing to call out to him. He was big! He could take care of himself! He was Germania's grandson!_

_At the slow of his brother's pace, the elder nation looked behind him to sigh at the tear stained blue eyes of the smaller nation. Sure enough, Ludwig was attempting to pull a stiff upper lip but he was still so young. With a great strut backwards, Gilbert leaned down gathering his brother on his back and smirking._

"_You should feel privileged, little bruder. You are riding on the most awesome person in the world's back."_

"_I am, bruder, I am."_

_In the background, the great black eagle rose high into the sky. Its wings hitting against the wind in mighty strokes as the sun shown high in the sky, the great eagle seemed to circle around the pair before taking off for the cloud lines seeking the silver lining. It was this Great Spirit in the sky that had always given Gilbert strength and hope for the future._

_**[] Flashback ends []**_

Splash! Wet liquid, hopefully water, had soaked his face, dripping down his nose and touching his lips thus arousing him from his dream. The light above him hung dim and flickering and he could barely squint at the form in front of his even as his heart started to race. It just had to be Russia again. If he only saw the scarf, he would know that it was his tormentor seeking a second round of rough and tumble—beat the Prussian. In the dim light he could make out only a silhouette of a well built man. He looked for the scarf, but it was far too dark to see, the only thing he could make out next was that there was a silver piece in the man's hand…it was long and seemed to curve at the top where the man's hand had held it. It was only when the full moon rose higher into the night sky that the metal bars illuminated the sight before him. Russia stood with a long metal pipe, at the top of the pipe was a faucet head. The evil smile rose higher onto the man's face and the loud slam of metal on bone began.

Meanwhile just down the hallway, Lithuana had seized an opportunity to grasp the phone. Dialing at his own discretion, he held a phone number shakily in his arms. The digits dialed with a shaking finger and the sound of a loud baritone, void of emotion seemed to come through the other end.

"Prussia needs you."

**End of Chapter Notes: **

_Suum cuique: _To each their own.


	3. Chapter 3: Saving Grace

**Chapter Three: **Saving Grace

**[] Germany's point of View []**

"Prussia Needs You."

Sitting behind his desk, his pile of paperwork having grown ten times as much, he could not help but harbor bitter emotions behind the word choice that Lithuania chose.

"Prussia can handle himself. He alvays has."

The sound of a stampede of feet entered his mind as memories of his brother storming his way across everyone's front lawn and claiming territory played out. Gilbert Beilschmidt lacked tact, and it had always been one of Grandpa Germania's pet peeves with the young nation. He was rash, impulsive, and power hungry but for all his hits, he had taken some misses too. For all the years that Ludwig knew Gilbert, and there were many, he knew that Gilbert did his all but never quite sulked over a loss. That did not mean he did not get drunk often, but he had always taken his lot fairly easily. He got some hits, got some misses, had a little bloodshed and then came home.

"He needs you…you don't understand…its' Russia."

There was something to be said of Russia. Most nations would cower at the blonde haired vodka obsessed man but Germany normally did not bat any eyelash at the man. It was a mutual understanding that out of all the countries that gathered, they two would be the most intimidating of them all. It was of this nature that Germany and Russia acknowledged each other, even as rivals, as great powers.

"…He coult not hafe causet Ivan an issue to varrant safing," Ludwig murmured more to himself than Lithuania. It was always something about his accent that normally had smaller nations terrified of his stature combined with his power; however Lithuania had never quite shown as much fear in approaching Germany as he had with Russia.

"He has not had the chance to bother Ivan. He is dying," Lithuania whispered those words as though the sins against Russia could be heard through the very walls of the room…and surely the demon in the house, Russia himself, could hear every syllable.

He is dying. The very thought stopped everything inside of Germany, his blood running as cold as the ice cold beer his brother and I shared such a kindred liking for. Death was not something that any brother would wish upon his flesh and blood. The very thick red essence running down the very cold floors of Ivan Braginsky's home was a horrifying image to Germany.

"He believes you will come. Please don't disappoint him as Poland has disappointed me." Click. The sound of a hung up phone, and there was no room for Germany to make a rebuttal. No room for a single sentence.

This was the first time he had ever heard of such a death in which he was expected to come to the rescue. The first time that his mighty brother had fallen and required help though he could never call, and one day, he would thank Lithuania, though a Soviet nation, he had done a service to Gilbert where even the world conference never would. He only hoped Lithuania would be fine and he would make it in time. His thoughts having been running through his head before he had truly understood that his feet had been hitting ground since the click that sounded. Surely, he would have noticed that the scenery was blurring around him, and even the finest of his possessions were mere blurs in his sights but all he could keep thinking was two words. _Hold on._

Just. Hold. On. Gilbert.

**[] Russia's Point of View []**

Blood was painted on almost every part of the floor, red and splattered; it was a sight that could only be matched by the illustrious beauty of a sunflower. A violent pair of violet eyes soaked in the sight with giddy excitement, clapping his hands together with sheer joy that it made smaller nations desire to take cover and hide, but there laid Gilbert…staring him in the eye and refusing to back down even though he was obviously physically broken. His favorite toy, the lead pipe, had been painted red by the encounter of flesh and bone.

"_Harasho_, _Harasho_, hahaha, ze look on ya face, dis is getting fun, da?"

Ivan's words were met with harsh breathing as Gilbert kept trying to stutter words.

"Our training goes good, da? So much fun, now come here~!"Ivan sat himself on the singular mattress, the bloody pipe lying against the wall, dripping red and making a small puddle on the ground. He watched with a rather cultivated eye as the limp and beaten form of Gilbert Beilschmidt flopped against the ground over and over struggling to stand…to rise, to prove he was strong enough that he was not frightened…anything to ease the man's pride it seemed but Ivan would have none of that.

"Crawl, da? Zat's good toy!"

The glare of red stared into the intimidating nation's violet ones. Nothing was finer than stubborn pride; Lithuania had always cowered to his whim, followed short by Estonia and Latvia. German's were far stronger a brood and this was nothing short of splendid to break the will of the nation, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he used a bit of motivation to cause the German to move. Nothing short of a whip striking bloody and agitated flesh, covered in black, blue and red. At the sudden scream that broke well through the bars of the prison cell and into the frozen chill of the Siberian threshold, Ivan could only gleam bright violet in his joy. Pain was like a violin playing him a melody that only he could enjoy…like a private bottle of vodka for his own enjoyment. Watching Gilbert crawl brought great joy to him, each movement strained and flopped. This was the joys of war. This was his triumph.

This moment was also the distraction that took all his attention from the open barred window, where a shadow, clothed in green fled the Siberian territory. He missed the shadow completely because his eyes were all for Gilbert and his fine drink of pain and discontentment. Bringing his fingers to touch the silver matted strands, stained in red, he could only groan in his delirium.

Gilbert was his masterpiece. He wished to place his paintbrush once more into the canvas, and he needed to more permission from anyone, he could have his way with Gilbert.

Such was the rules of the spoils of war.

**[] Lithuania's Point of View []**

He had done it. He had finally done it. He had aided someone else in Russia's captive but he could feel the tension in the air. He knew that he had to run, and his blood was pumping. Russia would try to find him, to make him one again with Russia's house. This was something Lithuania was not willing to do.

He had always thought Poland would come riding into the fray, armor gleaming and on a horse he and Poland would ride far from the frigid weather of Russia's house, to warmer and happier climates. The steps he made were faster than he had ever made in his life, fear rising through every orifice of his heart. He'd run through the great door, past the tree line and ran from the place of horror that he had been stuck for what had seemed forever. He was a free man now, and soon Gilbert would be free from the cold clutches of Russia. His black leather shoes had hit ground and he kept running for all it was worth, he would run back…run back to Poland as he had promised, even if Poland had not saved him. He would not abandon the nation that he had married himself to years ago.

He was coming home a free man. Independent of Soviet hands, he was free. As he ran past the woodlands, into the shadows, and far from the place of torment he had been trapped in for so long. He was going home.

**[] Gilbert's point of View []**

There was nothing to be done as his fingers scraped against the tiled floor; he was losing strength faster by the second. There was no fight in Gilbert Beilschmidt as the Russian grinded against him, slamming his rod into private cavities.

He had never thought this was how he would die. In the arms of the one who beat him, starved him, caused him to bleed, raped him and humiliated him. Yet, he was being slammed down, the man taking his joys out on the falling nation. He knew he would die, but where was his brother? Surely, he would save him…fingers scraping until they bleed, back arching and screams echoing into the night, he could feel his mind starting to fade…was he going to die with Russia still in him? Draining him of every last piece of his energy and pride…breaking him down to nothing?

**[] **_**Author note: **__Hey guys, Basilisk Prince here, I really appreciate all the great feedback I've been getting and even the____critiques. It just gives me a means to make the story better. You guys give me a great amount of encouragement to keep going to please keep reviewing. As a side note, this chapter contains a lot of speech accents…particularly from Russia and Germany. I went and looked up the way to go about writing a German and Russian accent. _

_Most of the v's in Germany's speech is a f, and the w's are v's. _**[]**

**Harasho**: Goodin Russian.


	4. Chapter 4: To Heaven or to Hell?

( Hey folks. I know the time is distorted because Lithuania would have left sooner than this, but for the purpose of the story, ignore it. Also ignore the more brutal entry of Germany in this story, because the confrontation through history was more peaceful. I had to have him make a more urgent entry though. This is just for story purposes. We'll get to see some interesting parts of the past, and will Germany save him? Well, let's see shall we? )

**Chapter Four: **To Heaven or Hell?

**[] Germany []**

At the front of the thick wall separating him from Russia's abode, he stood. His gloved fingers touching against concrete, leather brushing away bits of snow. He stared at the large wall and could not help the pang in his heart…Prussia was likely grasping at his last bit of breath. He could not understand… he could not comprehend…what he should do…declare open war with Russia over his brother?

His very blood ran thick in Prussia's veins, elder nation and once mightier than Germany could ever have been. Standing at his post, he had been ambitious. He had always been strong and outspoken. He was the declaration of strength to the world that Germanics represented, and now his silver haired brother was being beaten down by Ivan, whose purple eyes had hell's flames within their stare.

He'd have to break through the wall, but the question was….would he have time?

"Vait a little vhile, Prussia. I am coming."

_**[] Prussia in the Past []**_

_Deep cerulean and gold cloth covered his form. The red color was in the trimming and collar of the coat. Dark boots covered his feet, and his smile was genuine as he stood before Hungary, the nation settled in deep forest green. The features were masculine enough, but it wasn't hard to find that the nation was far more feminine than he had originally perceived. Standing against the wall, Hungary was grasping at the hem of her dress and staring intently at his deep crimson eyes with a pair of emeralds…frailty having hit her hard since the days that she quested against him so long ago. Maid's clothing cloaked itself over her form, financial instability becoming a great nuisance to her lifestyle. _

"_You've fallen hard, Hungary. Must suck balls."_

"_Mister Austria treats me good. I like it."_

"_You must hafe lost the last of your wits to like being vith that stiff! He likes to pretend he's a rich guy but he's cheap! You deserve better…"_

"_By better, do you mean you?"_

"_Vell….now that you mendion it yes I vould!"_

_Laughing, he stood against the wall matching up against the brick work and watching her brown eyes stare into his crimson ones. The world seemed absorbed in the contact of her staring at him, and he, for his part, did not ignore it. He moved in, brushed his fingers against her cheek, and brought his lips ceremoniously to hers._

"_Vhat is going on here? Elizabeta! Vhere are you?" the stuffy call of the posh composer from around the corner called out._

"_I have to go!" And she had rushed out of the scene, a flurry of green and white falling behind, her bandanna falling down at his feet…as the rain poured down._

"_Goodbye then, Elizabeta."_

**[] Latvia in the Present []**

It was true. Russia was every bit as scary as anyone could have guessed. From the moment he had arrived in Ivan Braganski's home, he had succumbed to the terror of the man's infatuations with torture. It was a scary position to be in when being Russia's toy, Russia's pet, Russia's infatuation. There were several infatuations of Ivan's and Latvia knew that Prussia would never be one of those desires. Gilbert was not China, and never would compare when it came to what Russia wanted for…bleed for, wanted to die for. None of the Baltics were high on that list. Maybe that's why he shouldn't stress over the loss of Lithuania, but he couldn't rightly think that. Lithuania was a possession, the same as Estonia and he were. This might reflect badly on them both…and Latvia knew that his words would always get him the worst of the bargain. He never slept in a night in Russia's room, no he wept deeply as the force of the blows knocked him from his feet.

Lithuania had been a brother, at least in spirit, for he had no relations at all. He, Estonia, and Lithuania had all been only children. Their appetites were different, their recreations different, and their general attitudes were very different. Everything about them had been different but they were all in the same position and found strength in each other. Lithuania and Estonia had always tried to help him tame his tongue, and they had feared together, shivered and fretted over the next decision Russia would make.

"Why'd he have to go and leave us behind?"

He asked out of outrage, but he couldn't rightly say that he was really angry. He would never be really angry at Lithuania for it. He just desperately wanted to escape too.

"Latvia, not so loud, he will hear you. Do think before you speak, would you?" Estonia said, grasping at the bridge of his nose and pushing his glasses further up. He was settled deep within the barracks that had been left for the Baltics…and in place of a full bed was an empty one with a simple "sorry" left behind on a note.

"We will do as we always do. Even without Lithuania, now be quiet or Russia will hear you!"

It was a hard life for a Baltic under the roof of Russia, but all the same, he was glad Lithuania finally could escape.

**[] Germany []**

He had slipped through the concrete wall, after using quite a few explosives to send pieces of concrete scattering against the cold and frigid snow. His mind kept seeing his brother's body slumped against the stone with three words on his lips the entire time.

"You're too late."

It would have been the worst moment of his life, and he struggled not to do something stupid and come running into Russia's home…full on. He had very diplomatic desires, and the wall was not going to impede him of removing his brother from Russia's grasps. The wall had to go. Piece by piece, he walked past the ruins and made his thick leather boots hit against the white snow. The idea rose in his chest and he moved at a quick pace. He would make it. He would see his brother's last breath, if he could do nothing else. His eyes closed, his face hiding the pain. The memories rolled around in his brain.

"_Hey Vest, you aren't drinking beer? Our bloods made of beer! Are you okay?"_

"_Hey Vest, this is hov you hold a gun. You're doing it vrong, let me shov you!"_

"_Ludvig! Look at this, this says you're of the Vest and I'm of the East. It'll be our secret names for each other! We'll keep it a secret? Secrets are great!"_

"_You knov, bruder, I'll alvays be ."_

Memories hit him hard, like a tornado whipping through the trees, ripping them from the roots, and slamming it against a church, school or residents. He kept insisting to himself he would be there in time but his heart was out of his chest, running on its' own whims. He could fail his older brother. He could fail him, and ultimately the one chance that the younger nation had to impact the older nation could be a complete failure. He knew this was a possibility, but this was the one arena he never wanted to fail him in. He could not leave him in the chaotic fingers of Russia.

Walking in the frozen chill, stepping through frozen fields where Russia's wildest dreams would have sunflowers popping out against the frozen surface. Russia's eyes were something out of hell, and his words were chilly and terrifying. Russia had been a contributing factor in his failure in seizing control of the world, to have the world revolving around Italy, Japan, Prussia, Austria, Hungary and himself.

Italy for his part continued to wave the white flag which was nothing short of exasperating, but Germany knew that if it had been Italy under the grasps of Russia, he would have seemingly had to take the steps to recovering his ally and friend all the same.

Why could it not have been Japan? He would have found his own way out, the level of mystery surrounding that country still left him on edge, wandering what was impossible under Japan's abilities. It was hard to figure out, aside from showing a little skin in the company of others, but that was just a quirk of Japan's he'd never understand.

Austria was not under the clutches of anyone either, unlike both Prussia and Germany both. Austria had been housed in Germany's house for quite some time, taking up valuable space, eating his food, and demanding the latest of comforts. Why could it not have been Austria for that matter? He was often a pain in the ass. At least then he'd just be making Russia wear dirty underwear he patched with his bare hands instead of Germany.

Hungary was far fiercer than Austria could ever be. Safe on his piano, his fingers lightly touching at the keys, the soft melody falling through the hallways, Austria sat often and relaxed. Behind him the guardian of his home, the true power-holder, was grasping at a frying pan, intentions to destroy anyone against Mister Austria well in her thought processes.

He knew very well that had it been him, a strategy would have been formed and he would either saved himself, died trying or was saved by the efforts of Prussia and Japan. His brother was always a formidable ally and he knew that he would rush into the fray, as he had in his youth, and somehow come out victorious and Germany would not be suffering as Prussia was.

He was breaking past the winds at break neck speed, his bright blues penetrating the cold and remaining open all the same. The chill was causing his face to turn red around his nose and cheeks, but he kept with the running as if nothing mattered more than to keep in pace. He had trained for this, but somehow, he never imagined it would be one of his own to suffer so that he had to run to their aid.

He could not promise what would happen to Lithuania who had tipped him off about Gilbert, but he could ascertain that the very attempt was very much a risk for the country under soviet rule. Perhaps, he could help him, but he just didn't know if that was possible. The fact that he expected to use force to remove Gilbert was scary enough in its own right. Regardless, he was coming for his blood kin.

**[Russia]**

Ivan had been waiting for the moment that Gilbert would reach the last strings of his strengths. The small dungeon floor was coated in Prussia's blood, and his dark amethysts were glowing with pride at his handiwork as he pulled out of his pet and allowed his crimson stained digits to roam through silver curls painting them with the color of passion.

Red; it was everywhere around Prussia and he had anticipated many things to come…the last of his breath being heard through his strained hearing…even the gasp and the blank eyes that would follow…but he had not anticipated to be disturbed by Estonia.

"_Lithuania is gone, and Germany is at your doorstep, R-R-Russia," he whispered the words, knowing should Latvia have gone, though the coward wouldn't even peel himself from under the bed, that he would have had it twice as bad as Estonia himself._

"Dis very displeasing," he ground out, a look of darkness waning out of his eyes. "Wanted no one to disturb me, nyet, not happy," he growled out, his eyes were glowing and he watched as Estonia cowered out of sight, but that left his pet…dying on the floor though his eyes were filled with so much hope. Hope that he would get to crush….so it wasn't a bad exchange after all….

"_He's coming, my brudder, he is coming," _the hope in his eyes was the delicious glimmer of hope in a world of infinite despair and Russia licked his lips in greedy anticipation. For mother country, he would destroy Prussia; rip from him his hopes, dreams and lifespan.

"Nyet, he won't get to you, Beilschmidt, I won't allow it," he smiled, the dark glimmer of his eyes unmatched with his baby face as the pudgy expression conveyed a soft nature while the eyes were glowing like a demonic spirit encompassed in the form.

"If he does not give in, he shall be a_ zakljuchennij_ too. A new pet, da?"

_Russian: _

_Zakljuchennij: Prisoner._


End file.
